She didn’t rue the things she’d done, because she’d survived, and if she could claim nothing else, she knew she was one hell of a survivor. Regardless of what others might think or how society would label her, she was damn proud of herself.
Wrapped in a terry cloth robe, she left the bathroom and made coffee. Her home for the past year was an efficiency apartment with a minuscule bathroom, a double bed, and a hot plate for cooking. It was so small, she barely had room to turn around, but compared to some of the other places she’d slept, like the park and alleys and one-night motels, it was nice. It was also cheap, which meant most of the money she made, she could save.
She’d decorated it with pictures from magazines and flowers that grew wild, and she’d loved the independence it had provided. For the first time in her life, she’d been able to call a place home. But she was now twenty-two, and she had enough cash saved to start over.
She’d managed it once before when she’d been no more than a kid of seventeen, afraid and alone. She was still alone, but fear was a luxury she couldn’t afford these days. By necessity, she’d taken risks that no woman should ever take, and they’d paid off.
Little by little, she’d learned to fend for herself, to protect her body and her mind, and to separate the two. She wasn’t wealthy, and a lot of people might scoff at a mere twenty-five hundred dollars.
To Cyn, it was a fortune, a future, and independence.
She sipped her coffee while daydreaming of what was to come, the things she’d do. When she closed her eyes, she saw a shadowed man, standing among tall trees, and a blinding sun with birds singing. Now familiar things.
The urge to make changes had been eating away at her for a month, when normally she didn’t allow herself the pleasure of daydreaming. It was the oddest thing, but she’d felt compelled to ponder it. Whenever she slept, visions of the man and a place far away, with water and fresh air and friendly people who didn’t know her, played in her mind with the same clarity as a movie show.
She didn’t recognize the man or the place, but both had become real to her. She knew them as well as she knew herself. Somehow, she’d find them.
She skinned on jeans, shoved her feet into flat sandals, and tugged on a long-sleeved T-shirt. Many of her clothes would be left behind. She couldn’t see herself wearing hot-pants and fishnet in her new life.
Grinning at the thought, she folded away her jeans, tees, and sweaters, then packed up her makeup and toiletries.
She eyed her collection of books, considered leaving them behind because they’d certainly be heavy, but she couldn’t do it. They’d saved her, and they were like her trusted friends. When she needed comfort, she revisited them. She had to remove a sweatshirt to fit the books into the suitcase, but it seemed a small price to pay. Her stash of money was hidden in the lining of her purse.
The box of condoms got tossed in the trashcan. She wouldn’t need those for a long time, if ever.
With everything else ready, Cyn opened the map that she’d swiped from the gas station and carefully spread it out on her bed. Feeling giddy with the pleasure of it, she closed her eyes, drew her fingers over the crinkling paper until it felt right, and then, finger pointed, she opened her eyes.
Visitation, North Carolina.
Oh, she liked the sound of it, the way it felt on her tongue when she said it aloud. She even laughed. So be it. Her days of running were over. It was time for a rebirth.
For the first time since she’d left her old life five long years ago, Cynthia slung her purse over her arm, rolled her suitcase to the door, and allowed the fates to guide her.
After spotting a cockroach beneath his chair, Bruce Kelly ruled out the soup. Cautiously, he stirred his coffee, and found nothing swimming inside it. He tasted it, and decided it wasn’t too awful. After doctoring it with sugar and creamer, he sat back to revive himself with some much-needed caffeine.
The cracked plastic seat of the booth snagged against his behind every so often, forcing him to shift around until he faced the window.
Evening had settled over North Carolina hours ago, bringing with it a black velvet blanket studded with stars and a chill that could cut to the bones. He should have been in bed by now, and usually he was, but he’d been too tired to continue driving without a break. He had another fifty miles to go, and he wasn’t fool enough to make the trip half-asleep.
His visit back to Ohio had been a pleasure, and he’d lingered too long chatting with friends. There was a time when he’d felt deeply rooted to his projects there, but in less than a year, Visitation had become home.
He was lost in thought, his cup nearly empty, when a semi pulled up outside the diner. The headlights briefly blinded Bruce before the truck swung around and stopped. As he watched, the passenger door jerked open and a young woman tumbled out in haste, almost falling to the broken concrete lot. His attention caught, eyes narrowed, Bruce absorbed the sight of her. She seemed to be all luxuriant, tangled hair, long legs, and defiance.
Leaving the big rig idling, the trucker threw open his door and thundered toward the woman. He was a large man, in both stature and girth, dressed in a flannel shirt with jeans that belted below his protruding belly. He seethed with aggression.
Hastily, Bruce laid enough change on the table to cover his coffee and slid from his seat. His gaze never wavered from the unfolding scene.
As the trucker drew near, the woman didn’t back up. No, she grabbed a suitcase and shoved it behind her, then, strangely enough, she took a stance. The disparity in their size was ludicrous, and yet she squared off with the big bruiser as if she intended to duke it out with him.
Bruce couldn’t hear the argument, but he could tell by their postures that emotions were high and driven by anger. The young lady practically bounced on her toes in provocation, amusing Bruce even as he feared for her safety.
From one second to the next, things escalated from a verbal confrontation to physical combat. The trucker grabbed her by the arms, jerking her forward and into his chest. The woman’s mouth opened on a silent cry.
And Bruce bolted for the door.
He’d seen plenty of violence against women, but it hadn’t made him immune. Just the opposite—more than ever, it infuriated him.
With all the recent changes in his vocation, protecting women was no longer his job. Yet, the instinct remained as strong as ever.
Ignoring the other customers who watched him curiously, Bruce shoved the glass door open and was halfway across the lot before his mind registered the scene before him.
The trucker had dropped to his knees with his hands cupped around his testicles, his face a twisted mask of excruciating pain. Surprise didn’t slow Bruce’s stride, and he reached the woman just as she drew back her foot to kick the trucker in the chin.
Catching her from behind, Bruce swung her up and away from the other man, then set her back down out of striking range.
The second her feet touched the ground, she rounded on him, drew back a bent arm to plant her elbow in his face—and paused with a look of mute surprise. Their gazes clashed and locked for long seconds that to Bruce, felt like an eternity.
He was captivated.
She appeared more than a little wary.
Blinking away his astonishment, Bruce came to his senses first. He felt like a fool, and no wonder since he was acting like one. “Are you all right?”
Breathing hard, she shook back her long black hair and demanded, “Who are you?”
Many of the bulbs in the diner’s outdoor lighting had burned out, but they still provided enough illumination for Bruce to fall headlong into her exotic features. Pale, icy blue eyes were tilted on the outside corners, heavily lashed and direct. Never in his life had he seen eyes like that.
Her